


From Tired to Decidedly Not Tired

by TheSupremeShadowOverlord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Possessive Behavior, and no sex, and not consensual, nothing really romantic but it is sort of implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSupremeShadowOverlord/pseuds/TheSupremeShadowOverlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will makes an unplanned visit to Doctor Lecter's office.  He's a pretty bad guest, as he stays unconscious the whole time, but it's the thought that counts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Tired to Decidedly Not Tired

**Author's Note:**

> So in this Hannibal get's really creepy (no surprise there) and if you want to avoid anything even referencing to dub-con then you might want to be wary.
> 
> I don't care if you want to take this as just creepy/possessive or as slash. I'm marking it as a relationship because some actions are questionable, but you don't have to see it that way. Just acknowledge that this is in no way good social behavior and I'm not encouraging it here, Hannibal is just a creepy dude.
> 
> *written for tumbler user hannifuckingraham's birthday!*

Doctor Hannibal Lecter had grown tired.

This was only to be expected, of course; his schedule was filled with patients requiring his assistance in helping them through their lives.

And thinking over all of his exterminations to make sure he had left no traces, along with planning his next.

But that was only his physical lack of energy; he was tired of a great many other things as well.

Such as how the law enforcement career path was full of trusting, manipulatable fools.

Though never underestimating your opponent was an age-old philosophy Hannibal made sure to observe, sometimes he felt he overestimated them. They were supposed to be able to catch criminals, it was their job. They received a fat paycheck at regular intervals telling them so, yet in all the years of his own unpaid job—unless you counted the meats he gained—they had never grown any closer to catching their “Chesapeake Ripper”.

Well, perhaps that was not as true as Hannibal thought. Will Graham certainly was no fool, and in the short time he had lent his mind to the Federal Bureau of Investigation they had made prodigious leaps to the truth of every homicide the man touched, including some of Hannibal’s own masterpieces. Increasingly drastic and risky measure had to be taken to keep himself from suspicion due to Will Graham and his astute mind.

Will made the job much more. . . rewarding.

As Hannibal began to clear out his office after seeing off his last patient of the day, reminding them to take their medication and promising to see them next week, these thoughts clicked their way through his mind in orderly form, as his thoughts always did. Having a clear head was necessary in the medical profession and the psychiatric one.

Hannibal placed all his notes into his leather bag and took one last look around his office. He would be back early in the morning, but as a side effect of his second, less professional job, he picked up the habit of never leaving anything behind unless it was a well-planned piece of planted evidence.

Just to be sure, he strolled through the room and checked every surface for any notes lying about or books off their shelves. Many of his clients enjoyed pulling them out to read the covers and rarely placed them back in their correct placement. Though he was generous with his personal library and lent books out frequently, Hannibal always grew the slightest bit annoyed when people would so carelessly leave them lying in precarious positions around his office.

Soon every detail of his office was in its correct place and he turned to the door only to have it burst open with a loud thump. Startled, Hannibal grabbed the nearest weapon he could find—a letter opener lying on his desk—and prepared for the attack, only to have none come.

The door remained open, but no figure made an entrance. Tentatively, Hannibal made his way to his door, one dress shoe in front of the other, each pressing gently into the carpet without a sound.

Hannibal had reached the door, and still the mysterious door-opener could not be seen. One hand clutching the wooden doorframe, he peered into the hallway only to see Will Graham slouched against the wall next to his open doorway, breathing heavily.

“Will!” Hannibal exclaimed, taken by surprise. Though perhaps he shouldn’t have been; Will often came to him at unusual hours with and even mix of theories on crimes and personal problems on his mind that he could not understand. He would often seek his unofficial psychiatrist out for guidance at all times of the day and night.

Hannibal snapped the letter opener closed and slipped it into his pocket, having no need for it now that there was no threat, and began studiously looking over Will’s condition.

Despite Hannibal’s loud shout of his name, Will made no move to acknowledge him and continued to struggle with breathing, arms wrapped around his chest and his legs curled up against him. After a moment of shock, Hannibal dispelled all feelings of surprise and leaned down to grasp the man’s shoulders and capture his attention.

Will did respond, but it was a delayed reaction of flinching and beginning to struggle out of Hannibal’s firm grip feebly, turning his head the other direction and futilely trying to shift his body out of Hannibal’s strong grasp. He seemed too weak to do much other than that, and he quickly exhausted himself in the attempt and slumped in a lifeless heap.

Hannibal remained composed, told himself to ignore the panic building in his chest. He tightened his grip and lifted Will to his unsteady feet. Will let out a shaky breath, then took in another stuttering one. His eyes were opened but unfocused, not seeing anything around him, or at least not processing any of it if he was. But thankfully, he managed to stay up on his two feet, albeit barely and unsteadily, and Hannibal successfully maneuvered him back into the therapist’s office.

After a few more moments of stumbling with his semi-unconscious friend, Hannibal was struck by the symbolicalness of it all. Here he was, leading Will Graham physically while also leading him mentally on a daily basis. In both worlds Hannibal was in complete control over the fate of the man, and for a moment he had the urge to chuckle at the irony of it all.

Though, they were not quite the same. Hannibal was leading Will’s mind to torment and pain, making him weak and malleable. Yet here, he was leading Will to the couch to help him, not to control him.

Not really the same at all then. More two sides of the same coin of control; opposite but sharing material. The base element of domination.

Setting his friend gently on the couch, he watched as Will wrapped his arms tighter around himself as his body began shaking. Perhaps he was having another one the seizures then. Not surprising, but it was interesting that Will had come to him in this time on need.

The trust in him made his chest feel lighter, for some ridiculous reason.

Hannibal deposited his friend gently on the couch and seated himself beside. Will continued to convulse, looking straight ahead, eyes unseeing.

It’s pointless to stay here, Hannibal told himself factually. He won’t be responsive, courtesy of all the drugs I’ve put in him, and when he does come to he won’t remember a thing. Probably not even how he got here. I should drive him back to his home, where he’ll be safe until morning. Then maybe I shall check on him in the morning to make sure he hasn’t hurt himself.

The thoughts, though correct logically, repulsed him.

Perhaps it was the idea of leaving Will alone in this state that disturbed him, but he felt it went deeper than that. Almost possessive, as if Will were his treasured belonging and someone offered to leave him out in the rain to rust.

Oblivious to Hannibal’s internal monologue, Will continued to wrap he arms around his torso securely, though it did nothing to lessen the seizures wracking his body, and he continued to gaze blankly ahead. Ignoring everything, even Hannibal who sat right beside him.

He looked so. . . pitiful. It was a weakness on anyone else, one Hannibal despised and leered at, but on Will, whom he was already in complete control of, it was endearing and held a certain level of appeal.

With a small smile of satisfaction, Hannibal lifted a hand to Will’s head and began to pet it affectionately to go along with this string of thought. A noise of surprise leapt from his throat at the realization that the curly locks of Will’s hair were not coils of wire as they looked but soft and springy, like summer turf after spring rains.

His hand unconsciously dug deeper into the mass of curls, admiring their silky texture. Never before had he felt such water-smooth hair, his own being brittle and his victims hair having been coated in their blood, which was highly unappealing.

Humming appreciatively, he continued to leisurely run his hand through the man in his bondage’s hair, watching each delicate lock spring back up after his fingers dragged across them. It became therapeutic, and he found himself enjoying the feel of his hand slipping across Will’s fragile scalp when the ragged, broken breaths caught and switched abruptly to a deeper, smoother sigh.

Hannibal felt the urge to raise an eyebrow, but it would have been pointless as no one currently sentient was there to bear witness to the human emotion. Will seemed to be recovering, calming himself down. Could that even be possible, with all the drugs coursing through his veins and processing to his already unstable mind?

Then he saw his hand still grasped in Will’s hair. Oh, it can’t be that endearingly simple, can it?

Seemingly in response to his thought, the mass of warm hair and fragile skull pushed against his hand. Hannibal himself hadn’t moved, Will had pressed his head against the hand, seeking the comfort it provided. Like a moth to a flame, Hannibal reflected as his dependent let out another deep, healthy-sounding breath. The velvety curls wound their way around his fingers, Will’s head still pushing firmly against his callused hand with increasing force, begging.

Hannibal brought his other hand up under Will’s bristled chin, tilting his head up. Half-lidded eyes greeted him, irises shifting back in forth in their sockets rapidly. The psychiatrist brought both of his hands to cup Will’s face, thumbs running over his bristled chin. The shaking began to decrease in severity until they were small tremors and the tranced face became fully limp in Hannibal’s gentle hands.

Two warm fingers made their way to Will’s neck. It was damp with sweat, but Hannibal could easily make out the steadying pulse. The deft fingers on one hand trailed up the unconscious face while the other brushed against the clammy forehead, brushing back the locks of soft brown hair that had stuck there.

Poor Will Graham. He had a skilled mind, more complex and intricate than anything Hannibal had encountered before, and it had been used up. Even if Hannibal had not interfered with his own agenda, he had no doubt the crimes Will was forced to solve would have taken their toll and destroyed the beautiful brain inside of that pretty head. Will had been slated for ruin the moment Jack Crawford walked in on his lecture.

It truly was a shame.

Will had stopped shaking completely now. His breathing was deep and steady, and his eyes had closed fully. Pink lips had parted slightly, the breaths passing through easily. Limp in the doctor’s arms, he was utterly vulnerable and susceptible to anything in the world.

Somehow, it was the most endearing sight Hannibal had seen.

Standing up, he placed the soft head of Will Graham on the arm of his couch, letting him lie down fully. Then he went to find the spare blanket he kept in the end table cupboard. He pulled it out and quickly turned back to Will, afraid of leaving him out of sight too long. Unfolding the blanket with a wave of his arms, Hannibal set the fluttering brown fabric over the sleeping form on his couch. To his amusement, Will curled underneath it, body winding towards his head.

Hannibal bent over and stroked the silky curls of hair, running his thumb down the side of Will’s face and scraping over the stubble, before straightening up and backing away from his patient. If Will and felt the touch in his sleep, he made no movement of acknowledgment.

With a long sigh, Hannibal found himself in a predicament. He couldn’t follow through his plan of going home and getting a healthy nights sleep because that would mean leaving Will on his own in the office. The very thought of leaving Will alone in this current state made his stomach twist. So, he made his way to the opposite chair with the plan of sleeping there and being at Will’s service in the morning.

Hannibal Lecter spent the entire night watching Will Graham sleep, and somehow he was never once tired.


End file.
